His Hearse, Her HymnHimHis Hearse, Her Hymn1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
You asked me why I don't believe in honesty
with henna-hands undressing our hips.
I told you—
—told you that a confession is an embalming:
the truth has died but hasn't been laid to rest.
You ask why I don't believe in honesty.
It is because honesty makes for better liars
and homeless poets.
liars have all the beautiful words.
the sunsets exploding within their throats
indicative of someone who’s entertained
too many dusty nightmares;
the truth is,
you were not cut out for this;
you’ve the heart of a child and
the eyes of the dis-eased—
—but I would love your every
vulnerability if you let me into
the brittle hollows of your bones.
The Daily Sentence ProjectShe shifts her thighs to the same anglesThe Daily Sentence Project2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where tectonic plates exchange glances.
The infant in her arms coos in haiku,
the phone crouching on her shoulder
barking in blank verse and bank terms;
where has the affection been displaced?
Perhaps the both of them are three full-
time jobs past romance and two cases
of chickenpox past the seven-year-itch
to be able to tell that dishwater softens
and oatmeal baths becalm their hands.
The kitchen tile is a haphazardous haven
for cloven shoes. She prefers slip-ons.
Titles Don't Belong in the First LineTitles don’t belong in the first line,Titles Don't Belong in the First Line1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and poetry is not made of end rhymes.
The ventilated fluorescence and I
flicker at the incongruence
and I want to tell her
sometimes east is left
on the map
if you hold it right.
Traditional art related articles - FeaturedTraditional art related articles - Featured11 months ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
The Imperfection of Style 1. IntroductionThe Imperfection of Style4 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
When you sit down to read a piece written by Baudelaire you do not expect Dickinson sentimentality, nor a Shakespearean wit or Poe's possessiveness with phonetically eeriness. You do expect a Baudelaire experience. But what is a Baudelaire experience? What makes Baudelaire a Baudelaire in comparison with Poe - is it the tonality, details, sentiment, or maybe the vocabulary, sentence construct or themes; Might it be the concepts, or maybe a certain point of view or an angle? Can you create your own style by analytical and critical thinking, learning the hypothetical curve and scale of those degrees, or by comparing different styles and reaching a sort of virginity in style, that which is uniquely you. Who is that which you describe through your style if not a human being, the imperfect creature of them all, and can we, by describing the imperfect, reach perfection?
The chase for Perfection in the creative and artistic world became an
A Shoe TaleA Shoe Tale1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were a pair of red shiny shoes living in a boxful of dreams, on cloud-coated linens. One May day, a little girl found them sleeping next to each other, and she loved them so much that she took them out for an afternoon walk, sometimes tituppy, sometimes gingerly, on the sundressed alleys. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were cheerful, as they had never breathed such a crisp air before, and the chill of those spring days, after a good sturdy rain, was daintly tickling their soles, growing goosebumps on their skin.
The little girl was bursting with fidgetness. When she stopped to bathe in a tiny oasis, she briskly took off her shoes and left them on the dewy grass. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were slightly afraid, as gloomy spiders and frowning mosquitoes were tamelessly rumbling around them. They cuddled tightly, to make the fear go away, like salt in a desert storm. The fear started to vanish itself, as the two realized that they were not alone. They were a p
MasumiyetMasumiyet7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tarihte Unutulmaz Kadınlar
Bu resim tamamlandığında öldürüldü
Dünya hukuk tarihinin en önemli davalarından biri kabul edilir Beatrice Cenci'nin davası. Beatrice'in talihsiz yaşamının ve öldürülüşünün yaklaşık 4 asırdır konuşulmasını sağlayan ise öldürülmeden 24 saat önce yapılan tablosudur.
Beatrice Cenci, Roma'nın en zengin ailesinin kızıydı. Babası Francesco Cenci iğrenç bir adamdı. Sayısız rezaletlerini, öz kızına tecavüze yeltenmeye kadar götürdü. Beatrice'in iki erkek kardeşi ve üvey annesi, Francesco Cenci'yi ortadan kaldırmayı planladı. Francesco, 9 Eylül 1598'de Napoli'de bir dağ başında ölü bulundu. İhtiyar adamı kimin öldürdüğü bili
Renfield's ClockThe package had no label or return address. It was just left on my front porch, wrapped in layers and layers of packing tape and cardboard, square and slim, about a foot and half in length. It was heavy as I picked it up and rather than open it there on the front porch, I brought it inside, and sealed my doom.Renfield's Clock6 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Inside, I found a clock. It was clearly old, the rim ornately decorated with motifs of vines, and while I was no expert the material was suspiciously reminiscent of gold. It had to be valuable. I was bewildered as to why I'd find such a thing left on my front porch. I turned it over, inspecting each side of it, and that was when the note that had been tacked to the back slipped off.
'To the person who receives this,' the note read, 'I don't know you and I'm really sorry, but I had to get rid of this. It's killed both my husband and children and now it wants me. I'm sorry.'
For a long moment, I just sat there, the note in my hands, s
You never loved</i>You never loved6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
You never loved
(Which is why I remain
a reader, and you -- you
became a poet
.how to comfort someone.11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
with an anxiety disorder:
tell them to
that they only panic
because they're just not
to handle themselves.
say that it's not
since it's not bad for you,
it can't be for
that's just how it works,
is my personal favorite.
because the one thing
that i want to hear
when i'm choking on my own sweat
is that i need to calm down.
Why Women Turn To FeminismBecause you do not love usWhy Women Turn To Feminism6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as we want to love ourselves.
Because of the scarlet letters
you embroider on our chests
as we sleep on yours.
Because you pull the pigtails from puberty
and squeeze mothers and prostitutes
from the girls we really are.
Because Disney fooled us:
we awoke, sweet-sixteen, embittered
with no kiss, no carriage, no prince.
Because the heroines of our youth taught us
the plastic passivity of our sex.
Because we couldn't be factory-made beauty too.
Because we have spent too long courting tears
and making life-rafts of our pillows.
Because we want the power to reject
our presence, our affection - even our indifference
and not feel our hearts unbeating because of this.
Because, in feminism, we find the fairy Godmother
we were always denied by being real - but constructed.
You Changed EverythingWaking up to see your faceYou Changed Everything2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is my favorite way to start the day.
Knowing my reality is as good as a dream
Makes me grateful for how we got this way.
I was scared,
But I don't think you could tell.
I decided to take the plunge
And immediately, I fell.
Your arms feel like home.
Welcoming my body into a comforting embrace.
You've left an impression on my heart,
A permanent mark I can't erase.
We share each other's happiness
As well as the pain.
But we both remember what's important,
Like when we're kissing in the rain.
I was drowning,
And you brought me to safety.
I wasn't sure I was ready,
Then you changed everything.
AcceptanceI accept that i'm a loner,Acceptance2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I accept that I was a cutter.
I accept that I am different,
I accept that i'm not perfect.
I accept that I am confused,
I accept that I always get used.
I accept that I fall too hard,
I accept that I won't get far.
I accept that I live my life,
I accept that I threw away my knife.
I accept that I am unique,
I accept that I am me.
The Last DinosaurWas just a painting -The Last Dinosaur2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
splashes of color
put to a wide
empty canvas -
but what do I know?
with my tired eyes
was a child,
a mountaintop -
over a valley
where a gloomy
ice age had begun
to creep, to devour...
one of a kind,
tears of a kind
in my mind
Give the reptile
a human voice
you have Man.
We cry out
for many things-
and for love
our tired eyes
A human voice!
maybe a prayer
Vision is blurring
in the cold -
Untitled VerseThere is not a placeUntitled Verse2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I would not show you
in all of my ordinary world...
Not one blade of grass,
not one solitary Starling,
not one fiery sunset
should be lost -
All of this
tied up to you somehow.
This was daytime
and I was alone.
Now, it is night.
There is not one bright star
or near winter constellation
I would not keep for you
or put it in your hands.
There is not one spot
in my shadowy corners
where you can not shine your light-
all there - my deepest thoughts,
my darkest designings,
my sweetest dreams - all there,
all tied up to you somehow.
In the light of day,
in university halls
and lofty institutions -
high minded men
write their books
or recite their poems,
educate us to think
and to show our brothers
that we are humans
of the finest sort.
There is not one
of their thoughts
I can show you -
not one of their philosophies
which may apply...
Hear them and wonder
Charity is good
for men's souls.
Faith can move
But love -
Love can spin
Lessons Learned in a Big Ol' Dress Iris stepped out onto the stone balcony, the one she’d dreamed up for this moment. With a sigh, she ran her silk-gloved hands along the ivory railing and looked out across the moonlit grounds, her colossal dress trailing out behind her. This was it. The stage was set, she knew her lines. This was her moment.Lessons Learned in a Big Ol' Dress10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
But it just didn’t feel right.
For the life of her she didn’t know why. After all, it was she who’d dreamed up this world in the first place, she who’d created its vast landscapes, the bustling cities beyond them, and the people that existed in and in between. This was her story, her dream world! So why did she feel so gosh darn unhappy?
For the billionth time that evening, Iris thought of the friends she’d made here these last few weeks. She thought of the Twixt brothers, expert thieves and incessant quarrelers, they’d charmed the socks off of her as easily as they could’
interim requieminterim requiem3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
gates open at 3 a m to the beach of failures
countless pebbles of all shapes sizes colours
traceless years of marginalisation
untried adventures, unseen lands, untraveled roads, unexplored cities, uncharted rivers
unspoken words, unreturned gestures, unshaken hands, unrequited infatuations
unwarranted rebukes, unresolved guilt, unavailability of confidantes
a life half-lived
personal shortcomings, social conditioning, duty obligation loyalty
improbable aims, conspiracy of times, wheels within wheels, twisted perspectives
throw darts to question why
never to hit the bulls eye
This Is a LieI hope this will not sound bizarre in your ears: I wish I missed you like I did last winter. When we met, a candle appeared in my heart. The more I loved, the more it burned and the more it started destroying itself into a liquid form. As the months went on my candle never was replaced, neither did it stop burning. One early September, like a leaf about to kiss goodbye to its tree, it let its fire escape. And today, like last winter, I feel my burning passion dancing away into the night like the smoke bouncing off the wind’s melody. Slowly, tenderly, you fade away. I wish I missed you like I did last winter.This Is a Lie1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Red as rosesRed as rosesRed as roses2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A delicate dance
Some subtle shift
A gentle drift
as fingers fumble
No single cause
No hidden clause
they ‘re in love
As souls merge
Through darkest day
They never part way
past death’s door
in heaven above
God bless true love
The Long Swim...A lonesome dreamThe Long Swim...2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
has come to me -
cold silver moon
like lover's eyes
and winter's beach
with glistening sand,
reflecting icy Paradise...
My footfall held
up by the sand -
I've tossed away
my wedding band...
And it is no
surprise to me -
No scent of brine
upon the sea.
Oh, let me try
as humans may
to sense the
feeling of decay...
(I am leaving this world...)
I choose the sand
for marraige bed.
The blue-green waters
reach the shore.
I close my eyes
and wait for spring
and lay there
till I am no more...
No feeling left
in human limbs-
I float in tangled
green weed wave.
I travel wide
mid jutting rock -
none may save.
is just illusion...)
let me go
and realize I
love you so -
that I do alone!
(Think!) It's just a dream
and just a poem...
An Interview with John RiosAn Interview with John Rios8 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
An Interview with John Rios
By Travis Ball
His name is Rios, John Rios.
He's not your typical secret agent, but he is living a double life these days. Rios, the creator of the comic strip Dead Days, said he is working one art to finance his other art.
"What's making my money right now is design. What's wasting my money is cartooning," Rios said. "I don't mind it. Actually, I really dig it."
At the advertising design firm Solutions By Design Rios helps companies develop their identities. He designs logos, brochures, letterheads and business cards.
"I graduated on Friday and started working on Monday. It was awesome. People were saying, 'ahh, no vacation?' Nope it's fine," Rios said. "I'll start working right away. Give me a job."
In June 2004 Rios graduated from Fresno State University with a bachelor's degree in graphic design. He said like every college graduate he was also worried that he wasn't going to find a job. Now after two years with Solutions By Design, Rios
the fault in our stars1. face about the starsthe fault in our stars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are one boy with ironclad dreams
and a paper heart
one day you will be a man, and
you must remember that only men
can burn down the sky
2. don't forget that this is a lucid dream
remember how you were born;
remember how your hands were tiny
and how they clutched at the air
as if you could grasp it--
become its master and use it
as a tool of your will
did you ever think those hands
would grow bigger--did
you ever think those hands would
bring me to love you
did you ever think
3. sometimes i marvel at the words i create
and the irony that the ones i say never matter
i would tell you i'm sorry,
but i've written myself dry
so that the sounds from my mouth are senseless
and i love you no longer means a thing
4. consider the stars:
look closely at them--
check their surfaces
we cannot see the cracks, sir;
we will never be able to see the faults
but we hear them roaring in our heads
reminding us of our humanity
reminding us to breathe;
and my dear, when i held your